


Thanks, Elphaba

by Reginacorn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Bottom Derek, Crack, Hostage Situations, M/M, Magic, PWP, Sex Toys, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reginacorn/pseuds/Reginacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so they're in the murdungeon, Stiles is freezing his ass off, and the witch was kind enough to leave a note for them. Now everyone is up to speed. Great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks, Elphaba

"So this is a shit situation."

The tense silence is effectively broken with the blasé comment courtesy of one very naked Stillinski. 

"No shit," Derek surprises him with the simple, gruff response. He had expected a grunt or growl or something. Not actual words. Consequentially, his response is just a surprised and somewhat amused snort. Certainly unattractive, but such is the situation. Terribly unattractive. 

In the "I wish this wasn't happening sense," not in the "this turns me off sense." Because, let's face it: any situation involving a nude Derek Hale is quite the opposite of a turn off. In fact; he should really stop thinking about the merits of the situation before it proves itself even more uncomfortable. Because of him. Or his boner, to be exact. Instead he directs his attention to his other surroundings, and to analyzing the situation. 

The room is dimly lit, a single lightbulb on the ceiling, with no fixture to its name, just a wire stapled to the crumbling popcorn interior. The cord continues down into a hole in the wall. Hopefully this tidbit could prove useful, but somehow he doubts it will, as the hole has the circumference of a malnourished toddler's pinky.

So yeah, not helpful. 

The walls make up for the lack of ambiance in the popcorn ceilings, with black bricks and crumbling mortar that really screams "hostage situation". The shackles hanging from that wall complete the look with a complimentary "possible murder" vibe. Locked in the shackles is Derek Hale. Tall, dark and handsome is wearing nothing but his patented murderous look no.5. The "I am going to murder someone, but they are not here for me to glare at, so I'm just going to let everyone else know murder will happen soon" look. Personally, its one of his favorites, because it means he is not the one who is going to die. 

The theoretical murder room, as Stiles feels obligated to call it, is sparsely furnished. It has a chair, which he is currently tied to and freezing his ass off in, and a stand. The stand is the kind of thing you expect to hold sheet music, but instead it seems to hold a letter of sorts. Stiles finds it sad that his captor is more considerate than his dad is most days. 

Elphaba, as Stiles helpfully dubbed the witch, captured them during a tussle gone south. Way south. We're talking rain forests and giant, man eating spiders south, not tequila and sketchy characters south. 

Scott face planted into a tree, distracting Allison, who then proceeded to let a bow loose that effectively pinned Isaac's hand to Scott's shoulder. The poor dude was only trying to help Scott, who was stuck, courtesy of his pointy claws and teeth, to the tree. Jackson, on the other hand, was knocked out by a nasty looking spell, and was last seen turning a suspiciously vivid shade of green. 

The covenant that they confronted was small, and led by Elphaba. But they were causing trouble; the fact that Erica and Boyd were incapable of saying anything but "the moon covenant rules" was plenty proof of that. Add those guys being busy getting cured by Deaton to Jacksons K.O., Lydia's firm belief that combat is below her, Alison's morbid embarrassment and worry, Stiles's inability to do anything but feebly swing bats, and the two idiots in the pear tree, and you have a clear recipe for disaster. In fact, it's not unreasonable to assume that the only reason Elphaba managed to expelliarmus them into captivity was because Derek was too busy gaping at the steaming pile of fuckery unfolding before him to do anything about it. 

Now here they are, naked in the potential murder dungeon. Or was it the theoretical murder room? Fuck if he knows, but he likes murder dungeon better. He's calling it the murdungeon now. 

Okay, so they're in the murdungeon, Stiles is freezing his ass off, and the witch was kind enough to leave a note for them. Now everyone is up to speed. Great. 

Stiles scoots forward to read the letter, tenderly trying to avoid scraping his frozen testicles against the metal seat. A shudder passes through him at his resounding lack of success on that front. Being as hella considerate as he is, he includes Derek in the whole letter reading thing. "Hey Derek," he says, hella considerately "there's a letter here."

Derek quirks an eyebrow, snapping out of his murder plotting fun times. "Read it," he commands in his annoying alpha voice. 

"I was getting to that," he huffs, shifting indignantly in his seat. Sourwolf Mcgee just raises his eyebrow at the display, so Stiles settles for the little victory of Derek actually talking and starts to read the letter. 

"Dear Bat Boy and Grumpy Wolf," Stiles begins. He knows it's a little early for Stockholm syndrome to start taking hold, but he likes Elphaba's attitude, and makes a mental note to call her that to her face when he sees her next. 

"Welcome to my fungeon!" It kinda comes out like fungeon? When he says it though, because he was under the impression that this was a murdungeon. 

"I admit, the place needs a little renovation, but I was hoping you wouldn't mind." In his peripherals, Stiles can see Derek begin shifting uncomfortably, and he pauses for a second before powering through. 

"I'm sure you won't, though. You see, as grumpy should be beginning to notice," Stiles's gaze flickers from the page up to Derek's face, which is slowly reddening, "I added some fun features." A sharp inhalation comes from across the room, and Stiles fights the urge to look up. "The more you read, the bigger-" Stiles eyes widen, and his head snaps up to look at Derek. "-the plug gets," he chokes out. 

There is a moment of wide-eyed silence. Stiles looks into hazel eyes, then tracks the red flush of cheeks down to strong shoulders, drawn tense as a bowstring, before his gaze guiltily flickers back up to his eyes. 

"Are you really-" he breathes out, then draws a shuddering breath, his voice involuntarily dropping to a whisper, "do you really have a-"

"Yes Stiles."

"And it's in your-"

"Ye-" his breath hitches slightly, cutting him off, and Stiles nearly missed the slight twitch of his hips, "-es Stiles."

"How did it get there," he breathes. 

Stiles takes the look he gets in response to mean " take a wild guess, and then shut the fuck up." But before his mind can conjure another embarrassing question, Derek speaks. To answer the question. Like a non- verbally stunted person. "It started appearing when you read the letter," he sighs, "it wasn't that noticeable at first, but it's starting to get bigger."

Stiles gapes, then catches himself, jaw clicking shut. He notices he's sporting the beginnings of a fantastically embarrassing chub, and clears his throat, mentally squashing it as best as he can. Come on Stiles, you can do it, just picture that one scene from the shining. Naked grandma, naked grandma, nak-

"So!" He starts off a little too loud, voice echoing through the fungeon, and winces, dialing it back down. 

"I'm going to read to myself now. See if there's anything else useful. You just... Relax. I guess."

With that, a silence settles back over the two of them. Surprisingly enough, a whole paragraph of insults to the pack's intelligence is read without incident. But by the time he gets to a particularly colorful sentence about Scott and his new tree friend, Stiles is cut short by a strangled utterance of his name. More accurately, half of his name, followed by a loud moan. 

Slowly, he looks up from the page, half dreading, half anticipating the sight to come. 

"Stiles," Derek is at half mast and growing, and his hips are rocking gently back, likely creating no friction at all. His pupils are blown wide, and his nostrils flare with each breath. His cheeks are flushed and his lips seem... Wetter. Like he's been sucking on them or something. Stiles bites back a moan of his own at the though, licking his lips. 

"Stiles," Derek continues, "reading to yourself still counts as reading."

"Oh," he squeaks. It's all he can manage to say, and the strangled noise seems to create an imprint, markedly heightening the following silence. 

Derek sighs an closes his eyes, breathing slowly. When he opens them there is a newfound determination. 

"Keep reading, but do it out loud again."

Ever since every word out of Derek's mouth started sounding a lot like pure sex, Stiles and his dick had been listening intently. But those words were like an electric current to the base of his spine. He had to hold back a shudder, barely managing to contain his obvious interest. Because, let's face it, Derek basically just told him to make the plug in his ass bigger. Sure, the words were nowhere near the same, but the result remains. 

Derek seems to follow the train of thought Stiles is barreling down, as his face grows even redder and he hurries to rephrase. "You're right," he tries for nonchalance, but it's hard to be nonchalant with a magical toy up your ass, "there might be something useful in there. Obviously reading to yourself doesn't help my... situation, so you might as well let me listen too."

It makes a disappointing amount of sense, really, he was kind of hoping Derek just wanted it to grow. He hopes his disappointment isn't too overt, but the pointed glance and command to start reading already is really no clue. He sighs and picks up where he left off.

"Really, your friend's little make out session with the tree was a gift. So I've decided to give the two of you a gift as well. We wanted your pack to lighten up, but when you're as grumpy as the big bad wolf nothing short of mind blowing sex can loosen you up, so to speak." Stiles snorts softly at this, and Derek growls impatiently for him to continue.

"Don't worry, we won't hurt you. Unless if you want us to... and then there's a little winky face emoji after- and you don't care about the emoji, okay." Stiles clears his throat awkwardly, "we're just having fun, and I think you should too. By now the plug should be- uh, pressing your buttons just right," Stiles feels his face growing warmer, and he shifts slightly in place, "so, being as generous as I am, i'll up the ante." 

That's when Stiles hears it. A faint buzzing sound followed by a barley contained moan. Derek is twitching in his restraints, fully erect, precum beading at the tip. His legs are shaking from the effort of holding himself up, and he's a werewolf goddamnit, so it must be really fucking good. He isn't even trying to hold back the motion of his hips anymore. He just intermittently jackknifes into the air.

He looks so turned on its almost painful. Which of course means Stiles is rapidly catching up. Who can blame him, he's a healthy nineteen year old, he's hormonal in the horny sense of the word just as much as the emotional sense, and Derek is fucking obscene. His brows are knitted together like he isn't quite ready to give in to how good it feels, but his lower half gave in a long time ago. Contrasting his raw lips bitten in an effort to contain his moans, his hips are shaking. He's trying to find friction from something but he's just hitting cool air. Stiles can see his cock, dripping and engorged, and it sends a shiver down his spine. He can almost smell Derek's musk over the mildew of the room, they aren't that far after all, only about ten feet. Being that close; seeing, and smelling, but not being able to touch is torture. 

God does he want to touch, and he wants to taste. He wants to lick a stripe down his abdomen, and then match it with one up his thick shaft. He wants to taste the bead of precum, to lick it off and then take the head into his mouth so Derek isn't thrusting uselessly into air, but trying uselessly not to thrust into his mouth. He wants so much that he can't have and it's making him almost as hard as Derek. His hips twitch up slightly, a minute movement that draws Derek's attention. His eyes lazily drift from their half lid to something wider, more attentive but just as fucking wrecked. Then he licks his lips, and Stiles can't help it, he bucks up again. Still not overtly, but slightly harder than before, and Derek moans. He moans because of Stiles, or maybe the plug, but he's going to go with the assumption that it's his fault because it's a hell of a lot hotter. 

Slowly, he focuses back in on the letter, and begins to read again. "Now I'm sure you're getting a little uncomfortable, so I'll let you go." His wrists fall to his sides, no longer bound behind the chair, and he rubs them before cupping the paper to read the last few lines. "We promised you two mind-blowing sex, but I'm afraid you'll have to come about it on your own. We'll be down to get you about an hour after you finish this letter, but I'm sure you don't want to try and tough it out, seeing as we're leaving your hands tied, Grumpy Wolf. As for Bat Boy; I'm sure you'll be pleased to find that the plug only comes out for ten seconds. If it isn't replaced by the allotted time, it will reappear. Ciao, and have fun, love Glinda." 

Derek drops to his knees as the shackles release him, but as promised, his hands remain behind his back.

Stiles is the first to speak up over Derek's soft moans and errant breathing. "So, I can give you a hand job or something. Seeing as you can't really do that for yourself." Stiles mentally kicks himself for his lack of game, running a nervous hand through his hair and using the other to squeeze the base of his cock at the thought of touching Derek when he's like this. 

"No," the words sting like a slap to the face, and Stiles figures he has to be a special kind of repulsive if Derek doesn't even want him like this. 

"No, Stiles, I need- ah" he whimpers and tries to use the floor to fuck himself back onto the plug, "I need more."

Shit. 

Okay so he isn't repulsive. That was the opposite of revulsion right there. Stiles kicks back the chair and walks the three steps it takes to get to Derek before dropping down and immediately grabbing Derek's jaw for a kiss. He tries to make it slow, and sweet, to counteract the grossness of the fungeon, but Derek doesn't let him. He moans lewdly into the kiss, tongue lazily making its way into his mouth, then thrusting. Derek juts against his leg, cock sliding wetly against his warm thigh, and pushes himself into the kiss. If his arms weren't bound he would probably be grabbing desperately, but Stiles is doing enough of that for the both of them as it is. Stiles begins to trail open mouthed kisses down his neck, stopping to suck a bruise into the junction between neck and clavicle. The resulting moan makes that same spot at the base of his spine light up, nerves screaming to be recognized. Derek throws his head back, and Stiles reels at the sight. It's almost like a show of submission, and isn't it with Wolves? The big bad alpha is trusting him for this, is giving himself over to Stiles. It's the hottest thing imaginable. 

"Stiles- ah" he sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving the pert flesh over, circling it with his tongue. "Stiles," its more insistent this time, and he releases with a wet pop, giving his full attention. Derek looks him in the eyes, burning with intensity.

"I need you to fuck me Stiles." He closes his eyes, ears ringing and a shudder coursing through him. After steeling himself and trying to control his cock for a second, he opens them. Time to be reasonable. "We don't have any lube."

Derek flushes slightly at that. "Yeah we do, it's in my hand."

Sure enough, there it is, curled up in Derek's fist, a small package of lube. 

Stiles takes another deep breath. "What about condoms?"

Derek growls loudly, flashing his eyes. "I'm a werewolf, I can't carry diseases. Furthermore, my distinct lack of womb is a good pregnancy prevention measure. You're out of excuses Stiles, unless you have personal objections, I suggest you put your dick in me. Now."

The wording isn't the sexiest thing in the world, but Derek sure as hell is, so it balances itself out. He scrambles to uncap the lube and drizzles some on three of his fingers before setting it aside and gently guiding Derek into his back.

He had been to busy freaking the fuck out to notice that the floor was no longer cold hard stone, but had transformed into some sort of cushiony material. It actually feels like memory foam. He's going to fuck Derek hale in a fungeon that belongs to Glinda the fucking good witch and has memory foam floors. His life is fucking bizzare. 

Then he notices the plug. It's a fucking tail. A wolf tail. The sense of humor that the witches possess is phenomenal, and he honestly thinks he's going to have some killer Stockholm syndrome after this. With his non slippery hand he gently eases the plug out, drinking in Derek's quiet mewls. He quickly replaces the plug with a finger, remembering the ten second rule. He can't really tell that well with his already lubed finger, but it seems like the plug was of the magical self lubricating variety. Awesome.

He wants to take it slow, tease Derek and fuck him open with his fingers so thoroughly before he even thinks about using his cock. But Derek is already pliant and twitching, and he's gasping out a chorus of "more, more," and "please Stiles," and God, he's never heard Derek say please but here he is, fucking begging for his fingers, and for his cock. The second finger slides in so easily, and he still feels like he can take more, so he just slides a third one in right afterwards. Derek arches his back and clenches around the digits, trying to push down onto them, angling for his prostate. He's starting to get tight, so he scissors his fingers out, gently stretching and reveling in the resultant moan. He searches for his prostate, angling his fingers up towards his pelvis and pressing in when he feels the small bulbous structure under his skin. Derek's moan rips out of him, animalistic as he cants his hips down, onto Stiles's fingers, fucking them into his prostate, loud continual moans nearly driving Stiles to madness. 

"I need you, Stiles," his words are almost a whimper, uncharacteristic of the alpha, "please, I need you inside me."

Hell if he was going to pass that up. He takes the hand that isn't inside Derek from where it rests, thumbing soothing circles on his thigh, and reaches for the lube. He uncaps it and drizzles it over his cock, fingers still working to spread Derek open. Two quick strokes and a squeeze to the base to keep him steady later, and he's moving his hand to Derek's hip, and lining himself up, slowly stretching him out. He's thicker than his fingers, and Derek is tight, so unbelievably tight. It's all tight warm heat and and shuddering breaths and a sure tingling pressure at the base of his spine. It's perfect.

He's pushing in slowly, about an inch in, for Derek's sake and his own- he doesn't want to come too soon- when the alpha begins to grow impatient. The little rock of his hips from left to right, subtly trying to speed up the process, makes that much clear. But Stiles continues to push in slowly. He's about two inches in when Derek slams his hips down, drawing moans from both of them. Stiles slumps his shoulders, too surprised to move, when Derek starts to do it for him. He rocks his hips at a mild pace to begin with, but it soon devolves into full thrusts, as Derek fucks himself onto Stiles's cock, moaning his name loudly into the empty room. Stiles can feel his orgasm approaching, the heat low in his belly and the anticipation just slightly higher up both clear indicators. But he isn't ready yet. He just joined the fun. He grabs Derek's hips with bruising force and stills them, smiling at the whimper it draws from Derek's lips. 

"Stiles, hah, Stiles please," the words are breathy, but adamant. He isn't trying to fuck himself down anymore, but he looks like he really wants to. 

Suddenly Stiles thrusts forward, slanting up and surely scraping against Derek's prostate. He grinds his hips in at the base, then pulls out. When he thrusts next, he bypasses the angle and goes for depth. If the pleased "mnnaaahh" that elicits is anything to go by, Derek likes it deep. 

So he goes for deep. He's thick enough that Derek's prostate is still being stimulated, its much less direct, but it works. He goes for deep and hard, and leans over Derek's body, licks over his pectorals, shaking with exertion, up to his jaw, into his mouth. They kiss like that, as Stiles is thrusting into him as hard and deep as he can, and it's desperate and it's lewd and it's so unbearably intimate. The way he's moaning into his mouth, and his hips are trembling, and he looks like it feels so good he's going to cry. When he pulls back and sees the hazy eyed look on Derek's face, and Derek smiles up at him from behind hooded lids, that's the last straw. Stiles loses control. 

He begins to thrust forward violently, pounding into the heat and reveling in the intimacy. He's fucking Derek, who's trusting him with something like this. Derek looked so stripped bare and raw already, he looked debauched and unbearably loving, and then he smiled at him. It was small, but it was so beautiful, he's never loved a sight any more in his life. He thinks he's saying some of it aloud, he's calling Derek beautiful and he doesn't even care because it's true and Derek should know. He's mouthing at Derek's neck again and mumbling sweet nothings into the sweat damp skin. He can taste Derek, and smell him, and he can feel the jolt of his own thrusts pounding into him all the way up here, and he can't help it. He's going to come soon. He says as much, his hips unrelenting in their pace but his voice much softer. Then Derek is nuzzling his cheek into the top of his head and kissing it before throwing his head back again. He pants and tilts his head back up to look Stiles in the eye, "c'mon Stiles, I want you to do it- ah," he closes his eyes when Stiles hits something good, hell if he knows what, before sucking in a laboring breath and looking at him again, nothing but want in his eyes, "come inside me."

And he does. A raw, broken noise ripping out of him as he feels himself pulsing, shooting into that wet, tight, heat, hips stuttering, but not stopping, riding through his orgasm. Derek twitches and clenches spastically around him, and when he hears the long, drawn out moan, and feels the cum splashing against his stomach he realizes Derek is coming too. They ride it out together, rocking a stilted pace against one another before settling into a lazy, post-orgasmic back and forth. Little sensations of pleasure come from it, but it's hardly purely sexual, it just is. Soon it devolves into stillness, and Stiles gently flops onto his back off of Derek, who turns to curl into his side. He rests an arm around Derek's shoulder, and before he knows it, he's sound asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Im so tired. It's past my bedtime. Just take my shitty porn. Anyways, visit me at antiarcticmonkeyes.tumblr.com Or my nsfw blog, notsfwthings.tumblr.com if you wanna get freaky and share head-canons or whatever.


End file.
